Winter as My Season
by Nakimochiku
Summary: Somewhere between dancing in the rain and a few odd words, Ivan Braginsky figures shy Matthew Williams may be able to handle his form of winter. Russia x Canada, America x Canada, AU
1. No Rest For The Pitiless

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 1. No Rest For The Pitiless_

He caught him, at first, dancing in the rain. Through the haze of mist and vodka induced blurriness, he saw a bright red sweater. When he moved closer, there was movement. A flowing, rippling body beneath layers of cotton, arms outstretched to catch each cold drop of water.

He waited for a moment, putting the bottle of vodka in his hand to his lips to take a swig. His smile, small and pleasant and disgustingly fake, widened a little. Dancing in the rain was such a childish pass time, held close to the hearts of those who knew nothing of pain.

Would they dance the same way in the snow?

But he sat and watched, all thought erased by the white static of rain and alcohol. The boy, alone on the rarely used football field, was beautiful in an odd androgynous sort of way. His hips, the way his feet worked, the way blonde hair stuck to the pale curve of his neck. He would have laughed, yet not known the reason why.

Endless hours spent in the persistent rain seemed to pass, yet he lost all pretense of time or understanding. His vodka was not nearly as finished as usual by the time he checked his watch for the time. Midnight glared back at him in florescent green lettering. He shivered. Natalia would be 'worried'. He couldn't bring himself to care, just leaned back and let the rain travel secret paths across his face.

He couldn't bring himself to care about anything anymore.

The bleachers groaned in protest as someone else climbed them towards him. "Oh." Came a quiet voice. He looked up, blinked slightly to take in blue violet eyes, the small pointed nose. "I didn't know you were here. Sorry."

He stared at him for a moment longer, trying to recall the face that went with that soft sweet voice. "Ah." Those innocent eyes flicked to him for a brief moment, before turning back to his bag to retrieve a beaten black wind breaker. "You're the boyfriend to that bitch."

"Alfred?" The other asked carefully, rather than standing up for his apparent lover. He just nodded and took another gulp of vodka, watching a small white stuffed animal fall from the bag. He bent to pick it up, fingers brushing smaller thinner ones. Their eyes met, and he smiled dangerously. The large doe eyes of the other were first to look away, snatching up the soft white bear. "I'm Matthew."

He hummed gently, staring at the sky and blinking whenever rain landed in his eyes. Matthew was still there, watching him. He glanced up, his smile becoming thin and sharp. Matthew conceded in the staring contest once more, cradling his bear to his chest. "You. You're Ivan. Alfred talks about you all the time." He didn't elaborate, and Ivan didn't push it. Matthew sat down and sighed heavily. "I don't want to talk about Alfred though."

Ivan laughed. It was a harsh noise. "Who would?" He took another swig of his vodka, studying the smaller boy not a meter away from him through narrowed eyes. His blonde head was cradled in his hands, shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. He sat up a bit, turning to face him properly. "Why are you crying over him?"

Matthew looked up, staring at him for a long moment. He did not find calm sympathy or caring warmth in deep violet eyes. Maybe that was why he slowly pulled together his words. "I...I don't love him." His voice was barely above a whisper, as though confiding a great secret.

Ivan smirked. "Then leave him."

"I can't! H-he loves me! And I just... I've never been loved like that before." They lapsed into silence, tears washed away by the rain, leaving pathetic sniffling. Ivan watched him, and smiled because he didn't know what other reaction he should have. He didn't understand such worthless tears. Matthew gave him a long look. "But I guess you don't get it..."

He shook his head, tipping the clear bottle up to his mouth once more, the vodka burning a path down his throat and leaving him with a sense of disturbing clarity. He wondered why Matthew had been dancing in the rain of all things, but figured it wasn't his place to know. Besides. He didn't care.

"Do you..." Matthew ventured, quickly breaking eye contact when Ivan initiated it, never seeing his triumphant grin. "Do you know Francis and Arthur?" He grunted. "Aren't you.... jealous of them?"

His laughter, however harsh, was really little more than a few quiet giggles. But it froze the blood in a lesser man's body. "I am not jealous of anyone." It was a lie. But one that he told so well that people had come to believe it. He had come to believe it as well. Matthew stared at him silently and wiped his cheeks hastily. Ivan realized that Matthew looked painfully beautiful.

"I...kinda feel sorry for you." Ivan's laughter was his only response. He left Ivan on the bleachers, swallowed by swirling mist. He didn't watch him as he left. Just stared at the glass of his vodka, now nearly empty. He laughed because he didn't know what else to do.

He stumbled his way home, smashing the bottle when it was finally finished. Matthew. Such a wretched little thing. How could he feel sorry for him? What was there to feel sorry for? He was strong. Had only ever been strong. How could someone so small and weak dare say they pitied him?

"Brother, where have you been?" Katyusha touched his arm tenderly, cheeks stained with the dried tears of her worry. He didn't answer her, pushing her and her kindness away, climbing up the stairs to his room. It was dark, little more than his bed and a radio inside. A haven. From what, he didn't know. The room had never kept him safe.

Matthew. He lay on the bed and stared at the blank ceiling, still soaked through, all thoughts blurred in a fog of sadism and an emotion he didn't recognize. Such an annoying little creature. Fragile. He could break him. He could take that soft, weak compassion and watery sense of self worth and crush it. In fact, he wanted to. Matthew.

He would remember that name.


	2. A Purgatory of Lies

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 2. A Purgatory of Lies_

Ivan sensed him more than he saw or heard him. He felt his presence, and as such, gravitated towards him. Like only a boy of low self esteem could, he made himself smaller, huddling in the corner, unnoticed by others. Ivan smiled. A target, a fruit that begged to be plucked and devoured.

He completely disregarded the principal as he tried to speak over the crowds of students. It was supposed to be a short assembly. He moved through the mass of people easily, eyes focused, his smile predatory.

"Matthew." His name came out like a deep purr, and Matthew had to look up, way up. He pressed himself further against the wall, looking at his worn sneakers. They were faded blue. The other was close, too close, moving closer. His breath fanned over his skin, real and warm. Without thought, he reached out blindly, hand resting on Ivan's firm stomach to keep him at bay. He didn't see the shark's grin flashed his way.

"B-back off, please." Ivan didn't, and Matthew said nothing more, face burning in humiliation. "Wh-what do you want?" His hand remained on Ivan's stomach, else Ivan would press too close again. He could bear the contact, intimate as it would appear, more than the proximity.

There were a million things Ivan could say to that statement. A million things that would make that flush turn several different shades. Instead he chose what had been burning his mind since the first night they had met.

Finding out what made him tick could come later.

"I am interested in why you said you.... feel sorry for me." The once resolute force against him slackened, pathetic as it had been, and he braced himself against the wall, leaning down. The golden waves that tickled his nose smelt faintly of strawberries and jasmine. "I would like you to explain." He whispered against the shell of his ear, enjoying the soft squeak that was his response.

"It's cause....." He fell silent, a gentle hand pushing against Ivan's cheek so that he couldn't touch him. It was too embarrassing. Too much like a kiss. In front of all these people! All of whom didn't seem to notice. Feeling a spike of vindictiveness, Matthew stamped his foot, looking Ivan in the eye. "It's cause you're so obviously fake. Everything about you is fake!"

Ivan let out slow deep giggles, amused by his new toy. He was far different from Toris. Blue violet eyes burned holes through him, fiercely staring him down.

"And what about me is fake?" His voice was husky and raw. Whatever fear Matthew had seemed to have was abandoned. And that amused him more. How quickly he switched sides and moods. Would he be as disgustingly beautiful when angry? Would he be beautiful when screaming in pain?

"Your smile, your eyes, the way you t-touch..." Matthew smacked away a wandering hand, fighting back a blush to continue. His mouth clicked shut as Ivan interrupted him to laugh. It was a quiet, demonic sound. Meant for Matthew's ears alone.

"How can I not pity you when you laugh like that?" He murmured. Ivan's laughter died. His smile grew dark, and Matthew quickly looked away. He didn't know what he expected Ivan to do. Hurt him? Kidnap him and lock him away in a dungeon as punishment? All he knew was that he had gotten himself into trouble again. Him and his big mouth. He wrapped his arms around himself, shrinking.

"What is wrong with my laugh?" He wondered briefly if others had such silly opinions of him, but decided that it was probably just Matthew. Everyone else knew he was strong.

"It sounds so lonely." Matthew mumbled, fidgeting, twisting the fabric of his sweater. "Like you're trying to cover something up." Ivan buried the anger that rose at his words. How dare he try to analyze him? How dare he speak as though he understood him? Instead he studied his posture with a satisfied smile. His body was curled, but no matter what, Ivan was always touching some part of him. His arms were like a pathetic safety measure against him. He silently told Ivan all the secrets he wanted to know.

"When you cross your arms like that, I know you are afraid of me." Matthew sputtered, unable to come up with a proper response. Ivan smirked, tracing a line from behind his ear to his jaw, to his thin neck. He could break that neck. He knew he could. Matthew shivered and looked up at him timidly, his bottom lip trembling.

"Does it make you happy, knowing that I'm afraid of you?"

Before Ivan could respond, Matthew had slipped out from beneath him, running to Alfred. He watched Alfred lean forward to kiss his boyfriend on the mouth. He watched Matthew squeeze his eyes shut, fingers clenching in the soft brown leather of Alfred's ridiculous bomber jacket. When looking closely, any idiot could see that there was no love.

Matthew stood too stiff and still in Alfred's arms, too quiet at Alfred's side. Like an obedient little dog. Quite frankly, Ivan found it disgusting.

But he buried that with his baseless anger.


	3. Heaven Will Lack Rhythm

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 3. Heaven Will Lack Rhythm_

He saw him again not too long after that. The drama room stood quiet and still, on most days. When Ivan walked by on a sunny afternoon, it was not as lifeless as it had first appeared. He paused for just a moment, long enough to listen to the music that floated through the closed door.

Tchaikovsky.

He pushed the door open, standing in the little aisle of the auditorium, the air of the drama room stale and hot. There was only one figure on the small stage below, tossing himself about with the crashes of the orchestra. Ivan smirked, and seated himself comfortably, waiting for Matthew to finish.

It should have occurred to him that Matthew was a dancer. But plenty of things tended to get swiped from his memory while he was drinking. He could only vaguely recall the sheer skill Matthew had danced with before while in the rain, but didn't think on it for too long. He preferred to watch the performance now, while he was sober.

Matthew seemed to notice him, though he gave no indication. His eyes were sharp and indifferent, calm apathy flowing from his fingertips. He was a different person as fluid grace gripped him tight and didn't let go. Ivan laughed softly. So even someone like Matthew was capable of strength like this. He laughed because this game of cat and mouse they seemed to be playing was quickly evolving into something more interesting.

He didn't have to wait long for Matthew to finish and change out of his dancing clothes. He considered following him into the change room, cornering him there. But waiting for the prey to come to him was much more amusing. He wondered just how much of a fool Matthew was. How far would he go in this game that he didn't even know the rules of?

Matthew placed himself gingerly in the seat one over from Ivan, staring strait ahead, soft pink mouth set in a determined line. Ivan smiled. He was more of a fool than he thought. That expression. He knew it. Katyusha wore it all the time.

They didn't speak until the last voices of the student body faded away, all home bound. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the little windows in patches. The same light glowed around Matthew's face, adding that final touch of perfection, until he nearly looked angelic.

As though there were such a thing.

"You're not as afraid of me." Ivan started simply, reaching across the seat to touch the soft flushed cheek. Matthew flinched. Did he not realize that his attempts at distance would be smashed, his mental defenses would crumble, his body would yield to him? Matthew was afraid, and if Ivan had anything to do with it he always would be. But he was still going in with a fool's bravery.

"I want to understand you." Matthew said finally, as though it explained everything. He didn't flinch at Ivan's cruel laughter, eyes fixed on the stage, trying to show that he was not afraid. He was merely ready.

"That's very ironic, Matthew, because I want to understand you." Matthew cracked first, and turned to face him, staring wide eyed with untarnished naivety. Ivan leaned over the armrest of the chair, satisfied as Matthew leaned back. "Tell me what will happen when you understand me." Matthew couldn't reply as Ivan's finger traced his bottom lip. "Will we become friends and all the things that are wrong with me will suddenly disappear?"

"N-no..."

"Will I discover true love and find my soul mate and I will live happily ever after?" Matthew averted his eyes, humiliated as Ivan's fingers traveled a path across his chest, the shirt still slightly open to give his flushed sweaty skin air. "Or, will you string me along and play with me like you do Alfred?"

"I- I d-don't play–!"

"Then what do you have to gain from furthering this one sided game?" He moved to stand in front of Matthew, bearing down on him, using his full six feet of height to intimidate as only he knew how. "Are you some sort of....." He paused dramatically, feeling Matthew tense as he leaned down to his ear. "Masochist?"

"I'm not a masochist!" Matthew shoved Ivan back from him. It did little good, but the surge of defiant energy it gave him was enough for him to continue. "What do you have to gain from tormenting me?!"

Ivan looked thoughtful for a minute. What did he have to gain from this conveniently worded 'torment'? His smile, always steeped in lies, radiated sadistic pleasure. "Me? I would like nothing more than to see you scream. I will not stop until I drive you mad. And even then, mad won't be quite far enough." He sat down again, a seat over, so that Matthew could retain that sense of normalcy that he needed so badly to function.

"All the same." Matthew whispered decidedly, looking anywhere but at him. "I want to understand you."

Ivan dignified the response with a snort. Without words, it urged Matthew to give up the useless endeavor, to resign himself to being Ivan's toy until he lost interest. The soft mouth Ivan had touched, red now due to lip biting, was still in it's determined line.

"Tell me..." Matthew began, stealing a glance at Ivan to make sure he was listening. "Tell me why I'm playing with Alfred." Ivan gave him a soft giggle.

"You said it yourself. You do not love him. Yet you continue to toy with his emotions, let him believe that what you feel for him is real. You are playing with him in far crueler ways than I ever could." It was a lie, but one worth telling when he saw Matthew's eyes darken in pain. Alfred was a weak spot that Ivan intended to exploit, over and over and over.

"I-I don't mean to." Matthew whispered. It was more to himself than anything. But Ivan would fire with the ammo he was given.

"Oh of course you don't." Ivan replied with a mocking smile, eyes filled with fake hurt. "You're just a greedy little child who demands love, regardless of where he gets it from." He leaned forward again. This time Matthew was too mortified to move. "Did you ever stop to think you'd be hurting him? What about the others around you? Arthur had a crush on Alfred, before you came in and stole him." Another lie. But it got him the reaction he wanted.

"Shut up!" His voice echoed through the empty auditorium, eyes shut as he tried to control the anger that surged through him. Slowly, his fists unclenched, and he opened his eyes to look at Ivan. "Don't talk about those things when you know nothing about them." The tone would have been threatening if it didn't shake with barely repressed tears. Ivan smiled. Was Matthew really so weak?

Ivan allowed him a brief moment of respite, finding that Matthew was much more fun to play with when he had gathered himself. He wanted to see those tears some day. He wanted to harass him until he dropped to his knees before him and cried, praising Ivan as the god who had opened his eyes. Someday soon. Soon.

"I want to hear about you now. H-how about... your family?" Ivan cast Matthew an amused glance.

"I do not wish to talk about them." In truth, it didn't matter what Matthew brought up, he would still refuse to answer. This game was about untangling Matthew. He could remain the knot that he always had been.

An expression close to a pout gave a fleeting appearance over Matthew's features. "Why not? Tell me about them!" Ivan held a finger to his mouth as though to say 'that's a secret', his smile more malicious than ever. "I let you–!" _hurt me until I shouted._ "Tell me about them!"

"No."

"But you're not playing fair!" Matthew found himself pinned to his seat in a flash, mentally reminding himself that Ivan was much faster than he looked. Ivan's eyes, murky with something that made Matthew feel hot, burned through him. There were no secrets that he could hide from him.

"Honestly, Matthew, you're so cute I could be sick." Ivan sneered, their faces close enough that he could hear each pant that rasped through the other's mouth. Matthew's lip trembled, either from fear or frustration or an emotion that Ivan had yet to name that always shone through his ever irksome innocence. "By the time I'm through with you, I'll have torn your naivety to shreds." He pressed their lips together. Matthew's mouth was just as relaxed and unresponsive as he had been with Alfred. Ivan wasn't sure what irritated him more. "Besides. Whoever said that I would play fair?"

He left then. Matthew gasped in his seat, fingers delicately touching his mouth. He felt dirty.


	4. That Green Gentleman

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 4. That Green Gentleman_

Waves of blonde hair reflecting sunlight, Ivan realized, were quickly becoming his enemy. The night after the encounter in the drama room had been wasted on thoughts of Matthew's lips, warm and wet. With just a little persuasion, that mouth might have opened to his. That kiss, he realized before the idea of hair even occurred to him, had been a very stupid idea. But god, had it been worth it. To see him squirm and pant breathlessly, powerless against him. It had all been worth it.

He registered the slim chance that he was... hung up. And that was more laughable than anything else. Him. Hung up. What could that little slip of a boy hope to accomplish? How could such a sad thing hope to save him, understand him, when he couldn't even save himself? He wasn't strong enough. He was just a sort of intricate amusement. Ivan was not hung up on him.

Matthew was curled in a comfortable armchair in the sunlight, glasses flashing silver. Around him, Alfred's friends laughed and joked, Alfred himself at the center of attention. Asides from them, the library was quiet. Ivan didn't miss the quick glances Alfred gave him, as though assuring himself that Matthew was there, real. Francis and Arthur were probably in the science section, tearing each other's clothes off. He smiled. How disgusting.

Matthew was open, his easy posture defenseless and inviting. Anyone could go up to him, take what they wanted of him.

Only a child would show their secrets to all the world.

Ivan waited until Matthew was alone, scanning over history books, pulling out and flipping through anything of interest. "Good afternoon." He greeted. He was too close. Close enough to make Matthew uncomfortable. Far enough that he would not retreat, not yet. Not unless he wanted to lose. And he knew well enough that Matthew did not want to lose.

"Good afternoon." Matthew conceded, and continued to flip through his book with practiced disinterest. Ivan knew though that Matthew was all too aware of his nearness, of his breath on the nape of his neck, of the things he did to his mind and body. But that he tried to pretend none of it affected him made Ivan giggle. How naive he was, to think that Ivan didn't know.

"I would like to play a game with you today." A single delicate eyebrow raised, as though granting him permission to speak. Ivan found this new Matthew more interesting than the shy one before. He wondered how long until he broke down this mask and was left with the Matthew he knew, weak and pathetic. The purpose of today's game, he decided, was to shatter this new persona.

"Is that so? I have no interest in your games. If this was originally a one sided thing, then I suppose it was best it remain that way." Matthew flicked a lock of hair from his face in an irritated manner, a habit Ivan knew he had picked up from Francis, moving away from the book shelf to leave. He was seemingly unfazed when Ivan blocked his path. His shoulders squared when he looked up. "You won't play the game fairly." A smile, devious and out of place on that attractive mouth, spread slowly. "Or shall I play the way you do?"

Ivan was not given a chance to reply, something that surprised him as blue violet eyes glowed with passive aggression. He became aware for the first time that if he didn't press the right buttons, Matthew could be dangerous. The knowledge only excited him.

"How about that scarf, hm?" He fingered the soft wool, not looking at him. There was genuine interest. As usual, Matthew couldn't completely close himself off. The sincerity was too real. But the tone was enough to scald. "Why do you always wear it? Are you weak without it?" He looked up for a brief moment, his resolution shaken by the cold glare Ivan gave him.

"You are toying with things you know nothing about." Ivan felt stupid for saying the line. Felt stupider for the triumphant flash, quick enough to blink and miss, that shone for just a moment in Matthew's eyes. Damnable eyes.

"Indeed." He twisted the scarf around his hand. "Who gave this to you?" He was closer to Ivan than his normal restraints would allow. Close enough that Ivan could smell his increasingly familiar scent of strawberries and jasmine. "A girl friend? No that's silly. Your mother?" No reaction. Ivan prided himself on the lack of reaction. "Your sister?"

He couldn't help the twitch near the corner of his mouth. It was a habit he had yet to get rid of when called out on a lie. It didn't happen often, so he had never seen the urgency in stamping the tell tale movement out. He wasn't sure if he was happy he had finally found a worthy foe, or aggravated by that same slow smile.

"Your sister. Katyusha, right?" This time, the twitch was controlled. But it didn't matter because Matthew already knew. "Why don't you want me to know? Is it embarrassing? Do you not like being associated with her?" His expression, though clean and well hidden, was slightly sadistic. Ivan saw it because he knew that face. He saw it whenever he looked in a mirror and let his mask fall.

"What about you? It surprises me that you associate with Alfred." Matthew was thrown into a gaping silence. He had caught him. "After all, weren't you angry at him, jealous of him? People always mistake you for him, even if you look nothing alike. Shouldn't you be ashamed of being his boyfriend?"

"D-don't try to make this about me! This is about you." Too late. Ivan had already turned the tables. And Matthew was left floundering in the dark, unsure of how to wrestle control back. He had lost momentum.

Ivan leaned forward, further emphasizing his height, his strength. Matthew cowered, just as he should. "No. This is about you." His hand rested on Matthew's shoulders, holding him still. His mouth. That tempting delicious mouth. Matthew caught him looking and licked his lips, not teasingly, just a sort of nervous motion. "I will leave you alone today, if you kiss me."

"Why are you bothering to ask? You will just end up taking it anyway." Ivan smiled as Matthew crossed his arms. Half of the gesture was a show of annoyance. The other of fear. It was true. He would take it, regardless of wether or not Matthew said no. But....

"That's not the point. I want you to say it." To break him further, to rip away that dignity and pride. To shred some small part of Matthew and swallow it, even if the smaller boy wasn't aware of it yet. He wanted him to gently lean forward and press their lips together, pulling him down on the way. He wanted to see those eyes slide shut.

He wanted the one kiss that Alfred did not have.

Matthew took hold of the scarf, leaning up on his tip toes. Hesitantly, he reached up. His kiss was slow, painfully sweet. His lips, soft and wet moved against his at Ivan's beckoning. His mouth opened easily to him, his mouth warm. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat as Ivan pressed him back against the shelf. The book in Matthew's hand clattered to the floor, fingers twisting in his scarf. Ivan pulled away and smiled, brushing the small tears at the corners of those perfect eyes away.

He'd broken him. He had taken more from him than Matthew had ever willingly offered anyone else. And it had been sweet.

They parted slowly, Ivan backing off and Matthew leaning against the shelf for support. Ivan smiled gently, memorizing the bright flush, the half lidded eyes, the way his chest rose and fell quickly. "You're very good at playing dirty." Matthew was left against the book shelf as Ivan hummed to himself happily.

He had taken what Alfred had wanted, and crushed it.

Morning was a sickening time. His family annoyed him. Too much noise. Too many smiles. Fake, strained smiles. He stood at the door, slipped into his boots, pulling on his coat, a bottle of the previous night's unfinished vodka gripped in his fist. His fingers touched the scarf. It seemed innocent, hanging there. There were stains that had grown dark and faded, a slight fray near the hem. It was a gift from Katyusha from so long ago that he could barely remember ever being without it.

"_Are you weak without it?"_

He left the scarf on the hook.

"Brother! Brother, wait!" Katyusha followed him out of the house, waving the scarf to catch his attention. "Don't you want your scarf today?" He turned and smiled at her.

"I don't need it."


	5. Like Dirt for Gold

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 5. Like Dirt for Gold_

"Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend, you fucking communist!" The statement was punctuated by a well aimed right hook. And it wasn't a weak one either. Ivan composed himself enough to smile, cheek stinging, staring down at Alfred peacefully. He felt unfazed. Alfred glared up at him, teeth bared, his fists clenched. The knuckles of his right hand were already turning red. "Did that get through your thick skull?" He hissed, grabbing a fistful of Ivan's coat. "Stay away from him."

Around them, people watched on in morbid fascination. Vultures. Ivan giggled softly, the sound making Alfred's eyes narrow. Like this, even he could admit that Alfred was beautiful. Not as appealing as Matthew himself, but there was still that general idea. His eyes, a perfect poetic blue, blazed as though set on fire. He was so uncontrollably angry.

It amused Ivan to no end. How could he be so furious? How could he fight to protect something until he smothered it with his love? How could he become so jealous over someone who didn't even return his affections, someone who lied? How could he so honestly and innocently call Matthew his 'boyfriend'?

The secret knowledge twisted inside of him, begging to be told. And he longed to spit it out just to watch Alfred crumble. Just to gain the pleasure that would come with breaking him. He hated Alfred. Hated him.

Matthew had kissed him. Matthew had kissed him in the slow way that only he could manage. Matthew's lips, delicious sinful lips, had moved against his. Matthew had kissed him. Not with Alfred. Never with Alfred, not the same way. And that would tear Alfred down, rip him apart when he found out. When he found out that the boy he loved so much had never kissed him like he had kissed Ivan.

"I swear to god, stop your fucking laughing! Tell me that you fucking understand!" Alfred gave him a shake. It did little good, but just like Matthew, it gave him the confidence he needed. Ivan smiled, did little to hide the nauseating feigned pleasantry, did less to hide the malice. Was Alfred so stupid to think that Ivan would just allow him to land a hit and not retaliate? If so then he was sorely mistaken.

Ivan wrapped his hand around Alfred's much smaller wrist and wrenched his grip from his coat. Alfred winced and growled at him, striking out and catching him in the face with enough force to cut his lip, a reaction of pure panic. Ivan's grin widened, drawing his fist back and listening to the solid crack when it collided with Alfred's jaw.

"I wish I could be like you, filthy American. So secure in your ignorance." He held Alfred against the wall to punch him again mercilessly, he tasted his own blood in his mouth and laughed. No longer giggles. No longer light with just hints of insanity. He laughed. Deep unending, maniacal laughter. It had been a long time since he had felt malevolence scorching through his veins. Too long.

Alfred reeled, hissing curses and swears under his breath, his glare sharp. Those eyes. They weren't like Matthew's eyes, not gentle and innocent, but still beautiful. "The fuck you mean by that, russkie?" Alfred wiped his split lip and slunk away from him when he was released, knees bent and ready to spring into action.

Ivan waved him off, smiling widely as he allowed Alfred his space. It was fake, his smile. Hid nothing. His entire mask was a mishmash of senseless parts. And his real side was beginning to peek through. The secret, the pleasure that came with the secret, still tasted lovely on his tongue. "I mean, not everything is as perfect as it seems. Your small little world is cracked."

Alfred drew himself up, jaw clenching, feet set apart as he steadied himself. Those eyes. Damnable horrendous eyes. "I know about the library. I know about it." He took a moment and examined him, as though giving Ivan a chance to defend himself, to discredit the claim. Ivan smiled wider and said nothing. "Just stay the fuck away from Mattie, and we won't have any problems."

Ivan raised his eyebrow. Did Alfred think that he could be controlled? Did he think that he would bend to his will? He was steel, iron. He was strong. He would never, ever, break. "I am not in the orbit of your perfect world." He left with a few giggles to haunt Alfred, letting the words sink in.

He knew how Alfred's mind worked. It didn't matter that they had kissed. In his mind, he hoped that _Mattie was just too shy to push him away, Mattie hadn't wanted it, Mattie was scared. And who wouldn't be, the guy's huge. _In his mind, Matthew was not at fault. No blame could be placed on his pristine head. After all, why would Matthew ever kiss someone like him? It didn't matter how Alfred justified it, willed the thoughts away.

The seed had still been sown.

Outside, the weather had turned back to misty cloudy half rain. No sun, just endless swirling fog. It mirrored his mood. He sat at the bleachers, ignoring the water that seeped through his clothes to his skin, staring out at the over watered grass. Everything was either lush green, slushy brown or dreary gray.

He vaguely remembered an idea, a thought that slipped in through the white noise of his mind. Dancing in the rain. Like a child. He laughed softly to himself, content to stay perfectly still, and not think at all. When he didn't think, when he didn't dig deeper, nothing crawled out of the abyss to eat him.

That was how Matthew found him, more than fifteen minutes later. He sat beside him, those pink lips turned decidedly downwards. He was close again. Their legs brushed, their shoulders bumped, delightfully warm. "What happened to you? Not Alfred?" He touched his cut lip, eyes downcast. His fingers were cool against Ivan's swelling cheek.

Ivan didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and felt the calming mist drift around him, sweetened with the scent of Matthew. Strawberries and jasmine. He was content to just breathe it in. If he didn't think, everything would just disappear. He could fade away. Melt.

He could be like snow. Snow that had tarried too long in spring weather.

"It was Arthur and Francis." Matthew whispered. Ivan hummed in reply, his hand coming up to toy in the dampened locks of hair. While wet, the gold was the shade of honey. He registered vaguely that Matthew did not taste like honey. Nor did he taste like strawberries. He was just infinitely sweet. Somewhere in his mind, Ivan was afraid that the sweet was too much for him.

Matthew stared at him, studying him as he reclined on the aged bleachers. His eyes traveled along the long pale expanse of his neck, the pulse just below the skin. Sliver hair scattered on a fair forehead. Lips, full and sculpted, were parted to take breath. Matthew realized that he was staring, but couldn't bring himself to care, even as his cheeks grew hot.

"Th-they saw us. In the library...." He trailed off, unsure of what more he could say. Was he trying to apologize? He didn't know. Just knew that he hated the splotch of color on Ivan's cheek. "They told A-Alfred. If I had known he would do this...." Purple eyes snapped open to evaluate him.

"You would have what? Fought him for me? Told him not to?" Matthew could find nothing to reply with, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. Ivan watched him for a moment longer before letting out an amused sound. He closed his eyes, content to just bask in Matthew's presence. Content to melt away.

"It-it still wasn't right! I-I'm sorry...." Matthew's eyes, beautiful eyes that could be compared to no one else's, were wet with unshed tears. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up. For once just shut up." The words weren't cruel. Not really. He just wanted the silence, wanted to melt away without a sound or trace. Wanted to sleep. He really needed a drink. Matthew's mouth snapped shut. He searched for something to say, his fingers worrying a hole in his sweater.

"I-I can't understand you." Ivan let out a soft breath and smiled. He had broken Matthew again. Broken him without intending it. He wondered if that was to be the fate of all his toys. He wondered where he would find someone like Matthew when Matthew himself realized that there was no point in untangling him.

He was a knot.

"You don't have to. That's not what this game is –."

"I don't care about the fucking game! I want to understand! I want to help! I'm trying so hard!" Matthew grasped his hand, his fingers shaking thin and weak. His eyes, watery eyes that tore him apart, pleaded with him wordlessly. But he had nothing to offer him. "I just–! Every time I try you, block me out! Every time I try, you fuck with my head, and it just really hurts!" He cradled his head in his hand.

This time, his sobs were much quieter.

Ivan watched him without a sense of pity. How could Matthew cry? He didn't understand. He had crushed him, toyed with him, tossed him up and down just to see his reaction. He had played Matthew until he was left frayed and grasping at shattered pieces to glue them back together.

"I just.... I don't know what I want. But I want you to talk to me." Matthew failed miserably at wiping away the tears. "I want to understand." Ivan noted dully that Matthew hadn't let go of his hand.

"No."

"Stop doing that! Stop blocking me out!" He caught him as Ivan got up to leave. Did he know that his eyes, shining with pitiful desperation, were heartlessly beautiful? Did he know what he could do with just his eyes?

"I'll tell you, if you kiss me." Matthew would have carried on to say something about Ivan's mind games, would have cried harder as he cursed him, politely. But Ivan cut off anything he could have said when he forced their lips together. The sound made in the back of his throat was pathetically submissive, fingers curling around Ivan's shoulder as he opened his mouth obediently. He pushed back when required, sighed softly when Ivan's fingers twisted in his hair.

They pulled away from each other just enough to breathe, the air between them hot and charged. Ivan kissed both eyelids, the tip of his small pointed nose. "Tell me." Matthew breathed, studying his face, every feature and detail, touching his bruised cheek.

"No." He left Matthew on the bleachers.

"L-liar! You're a fucking liar!" He giggled. The giggles turned into laughter. He was. He was a liar. He was a fake. He only knew who he was when he caught glimpses of that thing behind the mask in the mirror. He was.... He needed a drink.

Outside the room, on the main floor, the grandfather clock's pendulum swung back and forth. Katyusha sat in the kitchen, her face protected as she cried into her arms. She wondered what was wrong with her, why she couldn't be perfect and hold her collapsing family together.

Ivan didn't have to face that, in the calm familiar darkness of his room. The neck of the bottle was cool between his fingers. The clarity vodka brought him pushed back other thoughts. He didn't have to think about Matthew. He didn't have to think about anything.

He didn't have to remember how wet their last kiss had been, how Matthew had never stopped crying. He didn't have to remember the shattered look in those perfect violet blue eyes. Damnable eyes that he swore he would tear out.

He didn't have to remember that all of it was horribly fucked up.

Instead, he took another swig, and drowned.


	6. Indecent Sense in Lying

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 6. Indecent Sense in Lying_

They didn't kiss. A fact more irritating than it was satisfying. And if asked why, Ivan wouldn't be able to answer. Perhaps, if there was love. But there was none. Perhaps if there was some sort of true lie. Perhaps if Alfred was betraying Matthew in his own way, cheating on him, was using him. Secretly hated him.

But Alfred was like a lost puppy. And Matthew, really, was just an obedient dog. Obedient to who or what master, Ivan wasn't sure. And that just pissed him off all the more.

Ivan drew a deep breath, leaning casually against the book shelf, missing the feel of the soft wool of his scarf. He touched his neck where the scarf was supposed to be, felt naked, exposed, out to prove something. A game that he didn't know the rules of. He glanced back up at the two lovers.

Alfred watched Matthew for any signs of betrayal. Watched him to gauge his affection. Was he so blind? Could he not see the way Matthew cringed when he came a little too close, the tears that threatened to fall when he grabbed him and forced them to kiss in the hallway? Why did Matthew not walk away? Did he just pity Alfred? Ivan growled low in his throat. Frustrated with them. With himself.

Why did he stay and watch? What drew him closer until he wanted to take the light Matthew emitted and crush it? Why did he want that light, stay warm inside of it, taste it, hold it and own it? Such thoughts were not familiar to him. Made no sense. Were out right disgusting.

Clenching his fist, setting his jaw, he swept from the library to go home, far away from that supposed angel and his puppy. He didn't see the eyes that followed the curl of his coat.

Katyusha was home. Ivan cursed himself for not remembering Wednesday was her day off, the day she would cook, clean, stand outside of his closed door for close to an hour to try and understand, grapple with the drinking and the cold and where was her little Ivan? The same Ivan who had smiled up at her with his two front teeth missing, his hand curled in hers?

"You're home early." Katyusha greeted simply, sadly, watching him turn from her and go up the stairs without a word to her. She sighed, sweeping up the last of the dust from the front hall, listening to his footsteps. Where was her Ivan? She wanted him back.

Inside his room, it was dark and cool. Like a cave. He smirked at the thought, pulling out the last of his vodka from underneath the bed. Something else, caked in dust, met his fingers, and he seized it. For the first time in a very long time, he was curious. The case was light, easy to carry, and he smiled at it.

His cello.

He had forgotten about it. Hadn't touched it since the day Katyusha became his, their, guardian and tried to dry the last of her tears, heart worn on her sleeve. Hadn't touched it since he had realized painfully that no one would listen to him play.

That very same day, he'd pulled a bottle of vodka from the cupboard.

He opened the case, trailed his fingers over the strings, the neck, touched along its body and giggled quietly to himself. Somehow, the pain of late was forgotten, and he realized it was almost like having sex, in order to forget. He smiled and he didn't feel the pain, picking up the cello and tucking it between his knees and drawing the bow across the strings.

A thrum. A hint of life that traveled through him and warmed him right to his toes. A spark of something undefinable. Another long note, a D, possibly, and he felt it again. He grinned and left the vodka where it lay next to the empty case.

Outside his door, where he could not see, Katyusha sniffled helplessly, struggling to hold her tears with each new note Ivan filled the house with. Notes that should have been familiar, but only wounded when she was reminded of all they had lost.

He hadn't spoken to Matthew in a long time. Had watched him from the shadows of a corner as he stood in the lunch line, silent while his boyfriend talked animatedly, smiling bright and fake and he hated it. He hid his own disgust behind a pleasant smile, and always left before he saw blinding bright violet eyes turn as though sensing him.

He watched him in the library, back resting against the shelf to flip through whatever book had caught his eyes. Wanted to tear the book from his fingers. Wanted to hear him gasp. Wanted to pin him down and play the game until Matthew sobbed in delight. Wanted to do plenty of things that made his jaw clench and his breaths come in short bursts of bitter frustration.

He came close. A few steps away. So close to sitting down beside him and grinning easily like he hadn't in days and raping Matthew from the inside out.

He couldn't do it.

And as always, he swept away, didn't see Matthew's lips twist into a smirk. Didn't see Matthew slam the book shut, watching him go.

He'd been thunderous. So thunderous in fact that Natalia had noticed. Even more thunderous because she had noticed and he really, really wished she would say nothing. Blow away like a spring breeze and leave him be. So thunderous that his cello had become his companion, aquatinted with vodka, almost as much of a friend as he drowned his sorrows and then his soul and had nothing left to show for it.

He didn't need to study the music sheets to recall the notes of any song, felt it burble up from old instincts and giggled as emotions fluttered with them, coloring him all over and leaving him in senseless rage that ebbed away just as quickly as it emerged. His cello, a good friend, somehow. He laughed and kept laughing and for the first time in years, the laughter felt good.

Ivan watched Matthew walk down the hallway, dodging around other bodies, head lowered, his books clasped to his chest, the white stuffed bear held between his tight fingers. Something, as always, about his vulnerability drove Ivan closer, made him want to stop him, gently pry his books from his fingers, press a kiss to his mouth. Wanted to see him just as indescribably innocent as he had been when they first met. Wanted to crush that same innocence as fiercely as ever.

The next hallway Matthew turned on was empty, and Ivan seized the chance the way he seized everything in life.

By the neck.

"Good morning." he greeted, bearing down on Matthew with his smallest, sharpest smile, eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Fake. Matthew pressed himself the wall, a position that was becoming hauntingly familiar. His smile widened just a fraction. His fear was delicious. Matthew turned his face to the side as Ivan leaned in, breathing in his cologne and nearly drowning in the scent of it.

Ivan was so close. So warm. And yet so distant that he was cold. Matthew wanted to reach out. Wanted to pull him closer and tell him it would be okay and... He closed his eyes, flushing at the thoughts, risking a moment to look into Ivan's eyes, despite their consistent cruelty. He had planned on avoiding Ivan until he came to him, and though his plan worked so far, he didn't know what else to do. Was too flustered to think of anything more.

"We haven't played any games with each other for a long time, have we?" Ivan rested his forearm against the wall next to Matthew's head, leaning down closer to take in his strawberries and jasmine scent, saw the ripple of a shiver as Matthew froze. Somehow, Ivan seemed insanely angry.

"I d-don't want to play your g-games." Matthew whispered, trying not to focus on the warm hand that settled on his hip, or on the smile, or on the smooth lips that lay so close to his. That were open and almost inviting him to kiss. He licked his own lips, cheeks hot. "I don't want to play your games." he said a little more firmly, felt the vibrations of Ivan's deep laugh through the air. Hated the laugh. Hated the hate inside the laugh.

"You know how to escape it then. Kiss me." Matthew's fingers twisted in the collar of Ivan's shirt, pulling him closer, lips meeting almost hungrily before Ivan took control. He opened his mouth with a small whimper at Ivan's coaxing, let his tongue explore for just a moment before dragging him in for another kiss, deeper and sweeter, and filled with poison.

It never occurred to him not to kiss a man who wasn't his boyfriend. Not when Ivan's eyes blazed with hatred and constant loathing. But when it did, he pushed Ivan away, holding his fingers over his swollen lips as though to destroy the evidence. Ivan smiled vindictively, liked watching the hurt flash through Matthew's eyes because there was something so fascinating about the sight.

He wanted to tear Matthew apart. And he had the tools to do so.

"You're just a little bit unfaithful, aren't you, Matthew? You've been hanging around Francis too much." His smile became sharper and thinner, and he wanted to stab Matthew with it when the smaller boy flushed, shrank, shamed. "You really don't love that bitch at all. Does he not satisfy you?"

"Th-that's not it." Matthew whispered, and Ivan could hear the tears in his voice. "That's not it. E-excuse me." He slipped out from under him, running down the hall until he turned a corner. Ivan watched him go, smile long ago dissipated.

Seeing Matthew's tears didn't give him the same thrill it had. He shook his head, and told himself he was stone, iron, steel, unbendable.

A knot.


	7. We All Fell Down

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 7. We all fell down_

"You haven't been yourself lately, Mattie." Alfred ventured, taking his hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of it, looking at him and searching, to find something. Matthew flinched, didn't want to look in his eyes and see the hurt. Alfred loved him. Alfred loved him. He had to repeat it until he convinced himself that he loved Alfred too. Alfred loved him.

Sickness twisted like a knife in his back, sickness and shame, when Alfred looked up at him, waiting for his answer, holding his fingers to his lips and kissing each one just as they had seen Francis do to Arthur more times than they could count. The blue eyes asked the question that Matthew didn't want to see.

_Is it me, have I done something wrong, aren't I perfect enough anymore?_

"H-haven't I?" Matthew whispered instead, letting Alfred's hand fall to a place on the small of his back, letting Alfred pull him closer and bury his face in his gold waves and let out a sound much like one of despair. Alfred didn't cry. Alfred wasn't crying. But the sound tore into his heart and made him feel like a monster.

"You used to smile at me, Mattie." Alfred said softly against his ear, kissing his cheek. "You used to laugh when I tell a joke, you used to hold my hand." And it hurt, because he had never done any of those things without telling himself Alfred loved him, so he must love Alfred, first. "You used to kiss me back. Now I can't even get you to look at me."

_Look at me, look at me please, I'll change, I'll change and I'll be better. For you._

"I-I'm sorry, Al. I've just...been distracted." Alfred loved him. He leaned up, brushing a kiss across Alfred's forehead. His cheeks. His lips. Allowed it when Alfred made that kiss deeper. Alfred did it because he loved him. And rather than stay still, Matthew put his arms around Alfred's neck, heard him make a soft sound.

Didn't know he was moaning until Alfred had him pressed against the library armchair. Hated the look in Alfred's eyes. The desperation. "Mattie." he whispered, so soft and so unsure that Matthew remembered when he had first spoken to him. "I'll be gentle, I promise... I'll be gentle, so please...?" He kissed him harder, with more fervor, more lust, fingers exploring where they hadn't before.

Matthew said nothing, became Alfred's doll, let Alfred touch him where he wanted and went somewhere better.

That first day, Alfred's eyes had glowed with the promise of rejection, with an adoration so warm that Matthew felt beautiful. He actually felt beautiful and he wanted to bask in it forever.

"ILikeYou!" Alfred said quickly, flushed and met Matthew's eyes and took a deep breath to steel himself. "It'd be awesome if you were my boyfriend, cause I think you're really cute and I promise...I promise." He'd faltered then, because he wasn't exactly sure what he was promising, but wanted Matthew so bad. Wanted Matthew to be his everything. "Francis said to be gentle, so I'm being gentle and I don't know what else to do cause you never look at me so how else am I supposed to get your attention?"

Matthew smiled, watched Alfred's eyes widened as though he'd never considered that Matthew knew how to smile.

"Your boyfriend, eh?" he whispered, felt Alfred hanging off the words, saw the rejection intensify but the adoration was so much stronger and he wanted it. He wanted someone to look at him like that. "That sounds good."

He made the mistake of thinking he could look at Alfred the same way.

It hadn't hurt. Matthew sat up in bed and stared out Alfred's bedroom window at the world of midnight below, watched the mist rise and felt that he should be dancing. He should burning inside. Beside him, Alfred snored quietly, an arm around his naked waist. He seemed to smile in his sleep, and the adoration radiated through his skin.

Matthew wanted to give it back. He was going to give it back. He was going to look at Alfred like he loved him, like he adored him, like he was precious because Alfred loved him. Alfred loved him, so he had to.

He had to.

He slipped out of bed, kissing Alfred on the forehead. "I...love you." He tested out the words on his tongue, found that they didn't fit. They would. He would make them. "I love you." And kissed him again so that it wouldn't be a lie. He found his clothes, and pulled them on silently, leaving his backpack in the closet and stealing Alfred's keys. He would be back. He would be back because he loved Alfred.

The burn of the rum down his throat, stolen rum, was disgusting. But he laughed. He laughed because he didn't know what else to do. Drank because he felt empty inside and had to fill it with flames. The rum scorched his belly, made him want to cry until it was horrendously painful. Until he was even emptier than before.

The rain started then, a fine rain that dampened the flame. Covered the tears. Made him want to scream. He wandered blindly, unsurprised when he found himself on the football field. The place has always been his source of comfort. He tipped the rum to his mouth, felt it make him empty and burn inside. He wanted to scorch away the imperfection.

He would be perfect. He had to be perfect.

Matthew paused at the sound of the cello, waited on the edge of the football field and squinted through the flames and the rain until a tall dark shape was clear. He swayed with it, at first. Felt the sadness of the cello steal into his soul, behind his eyes, into his brain to rest there like a great beast.

And he could stop his feet from moving. Couldn't stop himself from finding proper form and then dancing because he was empty, and the dancing gave him something to be. Something beautiful. He smiled and he laughed until the rum was gone and all that was left inside was swirling mists and dying flames and the euphoria that dancing caused.

He didn't realize it was Ivan at the cello. Not until he heard his laughter.

But by then, the shame was back.


	8. Undermining Leopard Spots

Winter as My Season

_Chapter 8. Undermining Leopard Spots_

"I don't like you." Matthew murmured, arms crossed in front of him like another pathetic shield, eyes turned away so that he wouldn't see the hurt. So that he wouldn't see the cruelty. He didn't look up, blue violet eyes wet and ashamed, as though confiding a great secret. Ivan wondered how he would say the same thing to his so called friends. Would he whisper it just as he was now? Would he tell them proudly?

The vodka, as always, left him without his stone casing, despite the clarity, and through the glaze the vodka gave him, the whisper stabbed. But Ivan buried it, and smiled, laughed, thought that it was plainly hilarious. As always, once again, Matthew was finding new ways to intrigue him.

It didn't matter if the intrigue often melted, and left barbs that he couldn't pull out inside of him.

"You don't like me?" Ivan repeated, and if either of them heard the lava under the frosting, they both chose to ignore it. The lava hurt. The frosting made things better. Ivan let out a rough, chilled giggle, and Matthew only turned away, gold hair falling across his face. "What happened to understanding me?"

Matthew shrank as Ivan advanced, forever pretending at inferiority as though it would save him, forever making himself feel small. Ivan was tempted to tell him he was beautiful. Perhaps he would grow then. Perhaps then his would lift his head and look him in the face. "I-it was a mistake. I sh-shouldn't have..." Matthew looked up then, violet eyes so big and bright, the barbs dug in deeper. Damnable eyes. "I'm sorry."

Ivan laughed and hated his own laughter. Hated the hate inside the laughter. "Are you giving up, Matthew? Are you admitting defeat?" he grabbed Matthew's wrist when he tried to back away, pulled him closer. Matthew nodded quickly, pushing against Ivan's chest as though he would budge, desperate to be away from him. "I can't let that happen, not until I've grown tired of you." he would never allow himself to think that perhaps, perhaps he wanted Matthew for other reasons.

So he laughed and hid and held Matthew closer. Put his arm around his waist, burying his fingers in his soft golden hair, wanted to melt in with him and the innocence and the tormented expression in those violet eyes. Wanted to melt like a snowflake on Matthew's tongue and just disappear inside him. Wanted to be nothing and everything.

Matthew was silent in his arms for a long moment, and Ivan breathed his scent deeply, didn't think. Just melted. Melted and drowned.

"Are you jealous of me?" he whispered, looking up at Ivan. His fingers fisted in his shirt just like they always head, a familiar gesture of submission that Ivan adored. He giggled, rough and grating in his own throat as though he had swallowed glass with bitter acid. "B-because, I still feel sorry for you."

Another stab. The vodka couldn't fill the hurt, or replace the blood. He took Matthew by the shoulders, forcing their lips together. Matthew didn't yield to him. He didn't make the soft little whimper, nor did he open his mouth, or pant hotly against his lips, or look at him with the same tender open eyes. His eyes were violet ice. And they stabbed repeatedly.

By the time he recovered, Matthew had already run from him, into Alfred's arms. He scowled sourly, hands becoming fists, lifting the clear bottle of vodka to his mouth and taking a swig, feeling the welcome burn of it . When they kissed, Matthew still clenched at his jacket. Matthew still stiffened in his arms, and then relaxed. Then he smiled sweetly.

A smile he had never given Ivan before. As though he actually loved Alfred. As though he actually thought that he could.

He decided then, that Matthew was a toy that had lost his charm. Matthew was boring. Matthew wasn't worth the trouble or the time. He had seen him cry. He had broken him. Matthew wasn't fascinating anymore. He wasn't. He held his hand over the wound Matthew's eyes had made, tried not to hear Alfred's obnoxious laughter, didn't want to see those poetic blue eyes glow because he had what Ivan wanted. He had it because...

Ivan clenched his fist and started home. Didn't notice Matthew's eyes following him.

Katyusha's Wednesday. She sat as daintily as ever at the kitchen table, waiting for the pot to boil before she put in potatoes, reading and rereading their mother's cookbook in a panicked, frantic way, afraid of messing up, of becoming inadequate. She looked up, her expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. "You're home early." A greeting she had whispered weeks before, with the same sadness, the same pain.

Ivan nodded to her, felt her surprise in the air. "I'm home, sister." he said instead, sitting next to her at the kitchen table, large and out of place, sunshine on his face from the window above the sink. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done this, sitting down and saying nothing just to hear his sister breathe. The table had seemed so much bigger, then. So much lovelier with fresh flowers and a checkered table cloth, rather than a pile of bills, dried dots on them where Katyusha had cried.

"You haven't been yourself lately." Katyusha whispered after a moment of silence, looking at him only in glances as though afraid of his reaction. She reminded him of Matthew. Matthew looked at him in the same way. Matthew was quiet like her. He didn't answer. "Who is it that has brought life to my little Ivan again?" The question was soft, so soft that if he wanted to, he could pretend he hadn't heard.

Only that Katyusha knew that he did. She always knew.

"Let me tell you something." Another soft query, as though he would walk away, become angry, disappear any moment. He didn't nod, just waited for her to speak, patiently silent while Katyusha stood up, dumping the potatoes into the bubbling pot, before sitting back down to look at him, study the way he studied her, study the half finished bottle of vodka in his fist. "Sometimes, people make you frustrated. They make you hate them. And you never realize the reason you feel so strongly is because you want them so bad."

She was silent, shredding the leaves off herbs to put in the pot next, carefully and with that same determined thin lipped expression, as though if she focussed hard enough, she could be just like their mother. She wanted to be just like their mother.

She didn't know that she was only opening her own wounds, would cry when Natalia rejected the meal, when Ivan didn't come down for dinner. But she would do the same thing tomorrow night, and the night after that.

"Thank you, sister." He stood up, and she didn't watch him go. She was stronger than he thought, somehow.


End file.
